


Singing the Song of Angry Women

by wildhalos



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: American AU, F/F, Genderswap, Girl Direction, OT5 Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildhalos/pseuds/wildhalos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s so like them.  To rip through things until they’re barely recognizable, left in the ruins of what they once were.  They never disappear without leaving a mark first.</p>
<p>OR the one where everyone is a social justice feminist, and Harry is only now learning what it means to set a revolution on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singing the Song of Angry Women

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing A Thing, and I got distracted and starting writing Another Thing, but I got distracted again and started writing this: an autobiography I can't seem to complete

“How the fuck is that not germane; she’s talking about sonograms!”

Harry can hear the screech all the way from her place at their refrigerator and peeks into the living room to see her girlfriend pacing the floor with her laptop in hand, getting more frustrated by the second. Harry really hopes she doesn’t break anything this time. 

The other girls had been by earlier—they’ve been watching the livestream all day—but they’d almost started their own riot around Senator Davis’s second warning. They’d figured it would be best to disband the watch party in favor of solitary viewings for the sake of their entire apartment building’s well being. 

Harry busies herself tidying up the mess her friends have made throughout her rooms. It’s so like them. To rip through things until they’re barely recognizable, left in the ruins of what they once were. They never disappear without leaving a mark first. But it calms Harry. The meticulous tasks help her unwind after a big day. And every day is a big day. 

When she’s done making their small one bedroom apartment look like a livable home again, she fixes a glass of water and carries it into the living room to find Louis sitting cross legged on the ground still glued to her laptop.

“I’m going to get a tattoo of Senator Van de Putte’s face on my face,” she says as soon as she sees Harry approaching.

“Well if it’s for the greater good,” Harry replies easily, handing over the glass, but she notices it’s after midnight. If there’s one thing she remembers, it’s that this all day marathon filibuster was set to end at midnight.

“Are you coming to bed?” she asks. Louis should get more sleep. She’s always a rocket of planning and pacing and screaming at the top of her lungs. Harry worries about the toll she puts on herself, worries for a fuse that might burn out.

“Not yet, babe,” she says not even looking up. “We’re starting a revolution.” And every day is a day for revolutions.

Harry chances a look at the screen, but to be honest she doesn’t see much. Mostly just a bunch of people standing around. There’s not even sound anymore. But probably Louis understands these things better than she does. “Okay,” she relents anyway, leaning down to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek. “But don’t stay up too late.”

It could be minutes or it could be hours later, but Harry is eventually awoken by the feel of Louis climbing under the duvet with her and snuggling into her neck.

“We won,” Louis whispers into Harry’s skin when she sees she’s awake. “It was amazing. We won.”

“That’s great Louis,” and Harry really means it as the words leave her lips. If there’s one thing she’s learned, it’s that when Louis is this passionate about something, a declaration of victory is the greatest thing in the world. Harry lets Louis pull her closer to celebrate their triumph. 

“Now we can rest easy,” Louis says, and if Harry wasn’t so tired she would have laughed.

“Until tomorrow,” Harry finishes the incomplete statement. Because there is no real rest when there’s a revolution. And every day is a day for revolutions.

“Until tomorrow,” Louis echoes, and that sounds a lot more like the girl Harry feel in love with. 

>>

The day Harry met Louis, she was a fresh faced freshmen just minding her own business, and Louis was a wild child. Harry knew it the moment she saw her standing on a table in the Free Speech Plaza with a bullhorn pressed to her lips and a streak of red paint down the left side of her face. 

Upon seeing Harry she had jumped down, effectively cutting off her path to class and said, “You there, hello! What is your name?”  
Harry had been caught off guard, but admittedly intrigued by the girl in front of her. “I..Harry,” she stuttered. “I’m Harry.”

Louis had looked at her perplexed and raised an eyebrow. Harry knew that look.

“Uh, it’s short for—“

“No, no, don’t tell me,” Louis had cut her off, holding up a finger. “I like it,” she decided. 

Harry murmured her confused thanks, and honestly, people had told her that she would meet a lot of different characters in college, but she’d never expected the ball of fire that was Louis. She was long wavy locks and ripped black tshirts and fierce eyes and determination. A sharp contrast to Harry’s neat headband and curls falling just to the shoulders of her sundress. 

“Word of advice,” Louis had said, “use your nickname on your job applications.” 

What a strange thing to say to someone you only just met, Harry thought. 

“You deserve just as much equal opportunity for employment as any other random named Harry. Don’t forget that.” As she said the last part she made sure to poke her point into Harry’s shoulder. And then she was gone, moving on to her next unsuspecting victim.

From the moment she met Louis, Harry knew she wanted to know more of her. However, she knew Louis would never belong to her; people like that don’t belong to anything but their cause. But Harry was willing to accept whatever she could get.

>>

The thing about their dining room table is that it’s never actually used for dining. Instead it’s constantly coveted by notes and daily news clippings and maps. Currently, a United States map is the focus, Louis poised with pins while Zayn takes notes.

Harry watches as they all work, pouring all their brain power together at once and she tries not to let her head swim as they all yell out their opinions and commentary. 

“Well we’re definitely going to the march in Pennsylvania” “Where was the VRA movement again?” “No Niall we can’t go to Texas; we’ll miss our own voting day” “Wait don’t forget the big meeting downtown on the 3rd.” And so on and so on.

They do this, Harry’s learned. Read up on all the nation’s bullshit and figure out what march, what picket line, what people need them the most, and if the means match up, they go. It’s summer now and they’ve all been saving for months, gearing up to roadtrip wherever they want. But a bunch of girls on a college student budget can’t go everywhere, so every so often they commandeer Harry and Louis’s dining room table that’s never seen five minutes of dining, and they block out their weeks.

Harry is captivated, as she so often is, watching them. They revolve effortlessly around each other, a song and dance that Harry has not yet mastered but can never get tired of watching. As they move around her, shouting their commentary at anyone who will listen, Harry thinks of what this year has been since they let her into their exclusive circle. There is never a time when she’s not in awe of them.

Zayn with her asymmetrical hairdo and winged eyeliner so sharp Harry thinks it could be used to stab her opponents. Harry’s learned to expect her hands always matted with the dust of graphite she uses to draw her social justice cartoons for the school paper. They’re a huge hit; the kind that are dark and witty enough to make you laugh upon reading them, but come back an hour later wanting to do more, learn more, advance more. 

Zayn is quietly powerful--a muted presence that waits for a carefully calculated moment to knock you out. 

There’s Li, who’s all brawn and muscle and more of a traditional powerful. She traipses around the table in nothing more than a sports bra and her go to ponytail. Harry still sports a bruise on her left arm from the self defense class Li and her boyfriend Dave instruct twice a week. 

“You’ve got natural muscle mass,” Li had told her once. “You just need to tone it up.” Harry hadn’t mentioned that she’d heard that speech before given to her by a childhood doctor who’d advised her to join a sporting team—volleyball, cross country, soccer, whatever she could—to put her muscles to use. She’d never told them how she’d rebuked the advice because what girl wants _muscle_? Who would want to be with someone with such big calves and round arms?

Every day Harry looks at Li and her strength, looks at the way she carries herself with no apologies, and Harry doesn’t think like that anymore.

Then there’s Niall who Harry would describe as surprisingly powerful, and she is with her long blonde locks and constant sundresses—an instant contrast to her loud demeanor. Harry thinks she’d be offended if people were as surprised by her strength as they often are by Niall’s, but Niall only takes it all in stride.

“They’re only surprised because they have yet to realize women can be complex. They think in order to be considered strong, you have to give up feminine. I take my manicured hands and slap that idea right out of ‘em!” Niall had told Harry long ago.

Harry finds herself in rooms filled with feminists and misogynists more times than she’d thought possible, but she always wears her dresses with pride now.

And then there’s Louis, and well.

Louis is fire. She’s the kind of power that says “Look at me, I have important things to say, and you will listen!” The only one of their group to ever actually be arrested, she is a commander, never loses track of her goals. 

Harry’s mother used to tell her that children should not play with fire, but Harry has not been a child playing childish games for a long time now.

(Harry’s not sure what kind of power she possesses yet. Doesn’t know if she even has any at all. But she thinks she’s in the perfect place to gain it.)

>>

There are mornings that Harry is certain will repeat themselves in her dreams long after they are over. Days when she awakes in Louis’s arms and pretends to not yet be alert while Louis searches the news across their town, across the country, across the world. Harry will watch her every morning, when her embers are running low and not yet sparked for the day ahead. She’ll trace her Far Away tattoo, thinking of a sixteen year old Louis who got it on a whim wanting nothing more than to break away from her home and do what she is doing right now. To be a girl who _does_ something, who _touches_ people, not just someone willing to go ignorantly through her day in search of what was most comfortable. Before the sun is high and before the day has begun, Harry will look upon Louis and imagine that if she were to run again, she would take Harry with her.

>>

There are nights when Harry is not as well, and these are the ones that will play in her nightmares. When the weight of the world resides on her shoulders because there is always another tragedy in their town, across the country, across the world. There are nights when Harry’s heart is heavy, and she can’t understand the amount of hatred people can have for each other. These are the nights Louis will climb into bed with Harry and let her crawl into her skin for safety, working hard to keep a warm and comforting flame. These are the nights that Louis fears will take Harry away from her. It is here that she wonders, _were_ she to ask Harry to run with her, whether she’d say yes.

>>

It’s seven a.m. and everyone, save Harry, is piling into Zayn’s jeep. There’s a bill being protested a mere three hours away, and it was an easy pick for one of their summer expenditures. Harry stays behind though, having not yet advanced to “live action” usually keeping herself to small city speech rallies. 

“Okay, I know you said we’re saving or whatever but I made cookies?” Harry says handing the bag over to a still sleep rumpled Louis who can’t quite contain her smile. 

“Thanks H, that’s really nice,” Louis says, and they all pretend the bag will survive the entire trip, when in reality it’ll probably be gone within the hour. It’s still a nice gesture.

Li comes up then and gives Harry a tight hug. “We won’t be gone long. Remember Dave’s right down the hall if you need anything,” and then she’s gone packing their waters into back of the jeep. 

“Alright!” Niall sings, sashaying over and tossing an arm around Harry’s shoulder, “Let’s get this show on the road. Honestly, it’s the 21st century, and they still think they can pay us seventy cents on the dollar. I’m ready to shove my foot up someone’s ass,” she demonstrates by playfully kicking the air.

“I taught you those moves for defense, Horan, not violence!” Li shouts from the car’s rear. 

“You’re all going to shut up,” Zayn pipes in, and she looks the worst for wear, never one for early rising, “or you not going to ride in my jeep. You can walk for all I care.” She walks over and plucks Harry from Niall’s arms before pressing a sleepy kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“Goodbye, sweet Harold; I’ll try not to kill your friends.”

“Actually,” Harry starts, “’Harry’ is short for—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn says cutting her off with a tired wave, “I care a lot.” And then she’s climbing into the back seat and closing her eyes to the world. Niall follows suit after telling Harry not to worry, Zayn has always been a grumpy puss. 

“Okay,” Harry huffs, suddenly nervous. “Just, no one get arrested alright?” 

She hears Louis laugh next to her before pulling Harry into a hug of her own. 

“Oh honey, that’s cute,” she says, “but we make no promises.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but it doesn’t stop Harry from worrying her bottom lip.

“Hey,” Louis says calling her attention, and her voice is softer this time, “We’ll be careful, I promise.” She waits for Harry to nod before she smiles. “I love you,” she murmurs into Harry’s neck, “I’ll be back by the time you wake up in the morning,” and that makes Harry feel so much better as she presses a kiss to Louis’s mouth and lets her tongue search inside. Louis’s cheeks are flushed when she pulls away. 

“Love you,” she repeats before she turns to the car and yells, “I’m driving!”

“Like hell,” Niall shouts back not missing a beat.

“You’ve got like eight unpaid parking tickets,” Li points out. 

Louis looks affronted. “I’ve got two, and I’m working on them!”

“Well, regardless,” Li says climbing into the driver’s seat. “Bye Harry, thank you for the cookies!”

She waves at them all and gives Louis’s hand one final squeeze, and then they’re off, ready to change the world. 

Because every day is a day for revolutions.

>>

Zayn was the first to ever tell Harry about one of her battle scars.

“This,” she’d said running her finger from the apple to the hollow of her right cheek where a strip of scarred tissue sits in sharp contrast to the rest of her skin, “was given to me when I was seventeen. Lou and I ran off to our first protest, and some jerk took my own picket sign and just whacked me.”

Harry was enraptured, but her face must have read as horror because Louis had kept a constant pressure on her back, rubbing circles, always worried for the thing that will finally send Harry running. But how could Harry go anywhere; if Zayn could make it through that, she can make it through this.

Zayn who is otherworldly in her patience, and constantly hated for simply being who she is. Harry thinks about Zayn getting back up that day and not deciding to go home, but instead deciding to work harder. 

She thinks of how many other scars Zayn has, how many they all have. Some are obvious like the one on Zayn’s cheek or the one on Louis’s bicep. 

(“I was branded once,” Louis admits into the dead of the night when Harry’s eyes can no longer contain her question. She caresses the raised flesh with concern riddled on her face, and Louis nods sadly. “Struck down like some cattle for herding,” Louis continues, and her voice is seething. Harry kisses her until the pain melts away.)

Others are not so obvious like the reason behind why Niall sometimes limps when she walks or why Li felt the need to start teaching a self defense class in the first place. But wherever they are, they carry their scars with them—battle scars that remind them that there is still a fight, and they’ve already come so far. 

Every day is a day for revolutions, and they’ll be damned if they let a day go by untaken.

>>

“You…what?” Louis questions, having a hard time. They’re all piled into Harry and Louis’s apartment again, and Harry figured now was as good a time as any.

“I wanna go with you,” Harry repeats, look up at Louis from her place on the floor. “On your next trip. You have one next week right?”

Louis looks perplexed again, and Harry spots her hesitancy.

“I’m ready, Louis,” she says earnestly, crawling until her arms rest over Louis’s knees. “Really, I’ve been reading up on this one specifically, and I want to be a part of it. Let me.”

Louis only gulps, but there is a small smile tracing her lips now. “What do you guys think,” she throws into the air, and Harry looks at them all pleadingly. 

“If she says she’s ready,” Niall agrees easily, “I think she’ll be fun to have along.”

“This isn’t about your entertainment, Niall,” Louis reprimands, but Harry is there smoothing circles into her palm and batting away the flames before they can consume anything.

“I think it’ll be good for her too,” Niall defends, and then looks to Harry. “It’ll make you less green.”

Harry huffs at that, but she lets the comment drop. Instead she opts to study Louis’s face waiting with baited breath.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Louis mutters quietly. “There’s so much work you could do here; not everyone needs to be out there.”

Harry shushes her easily and reaches up to let her nose chase Louis’s own. “I want to go with you. I want to be there.” Louis only studies Harry for a second more before her smile turns wolfish. 

“Well, welcome aboard.”

>>

There is a phenomenon called a perfect storm, in which a seemingly full proof plan should go over without a hitch, but instead, everything that could go wrong does. 

Harry’s first protest rally was a perfect storm.

The memory replays in her mind on loop from start to finish. How it had started innocently enough with them coming to protest a bill that would enable women across their state to be fired for maternity leave. How she had been buzzing with excitement to actually be contributing instead of merely reading about it or hearing the girls speak about it later. How a police officer had come over and informed them that they were to either leave or be removed. 

The air had shifted then, and there were outcries of the first amendment sidled against the officers informing them that this town had specific laws in place, a loop hole that they were under strict orders to enforce. 

And again there were outcries because no they would not leave; justice does not stop on account of a technicality. Fists in the air and voices at their highest range, this was the midst of a revolution. This had been where Harry’s storm began.

She recalls how the officer had decided she would be a good example, had grabbed her arm from the air and forcibly pushed her back, how her arm was now bruised from his fingertips. 

She had sensed more than seen the white hot fury that boiled inside of Louis then. If Harry was honest with herself, that was what frightened her more than anything that had happened today.

But it was not Louis—or any of Harry’s girls—who got to the officer first. Instead it was an older woman who had been beside Harry, someone she couldn’t have known for more than an hour of small talk, who had lunged forward with demands that Harry be let go, forcibly breaking the officers hold. 

Harry remembers what the taser had sounded like as the woman crumpled to the ground. 

She remembers how the crowd, who had started so peacefully, thundered then, charging forward in rage. She remembers how she herself had been frozen in shock and had fallen down in their siege, firm hands gripping her side to pull her back up.

Now that it’s over she sits in a bathtub staring at the opposite wall and replaying every second of the day over and over. 

When the frenzy had ended, Niall had suggested they phone her cousin who lived close by-- Niall has a cousin in every corner of the world, Harry thinks—instead of waiting until they got home to check on any injuries. Harry’s minimal injuries were the worst of the bunch thank goodness.

She examines them: a scrapped knee, a bruised arm, a battered heart. Louis sits behind her now, stroking her sides with water warm fingertips, and her fire is slow burning, like the kind that greets you after a long day in the cold, slowly melting Harry’s tense muscles. 

“Can you talk to me, my love?” she asks, breaking Harry’s reverie, and it’s only then that Harry realizes how silent she must have been since the rally.

But what can she say? How does she even react after today’s events? Her mind flashes to the police officer, the way he’d looked at her, the screams in the crowd, but what finally comes out is, “The lady?”

Louis huffs a breath against Harry’s ear, and whether it’s out of relief that Harry has finally spoken or displeasure that this is what Harry chose to speak of first, Harry can’t quite pinpoint.

“She’s alright,” she comforts rubbing circles into Harry’s hip, “We checked on her before we left; she was alright.”

Harry releases a gust of breath she didn’t realize she’d been constricting.

She looks to the angry red of her knee, realizes that it’s at least stopped bleeding, and she can’t resist. “Niall’s knee…” she trails, not even knowing how to ask the question.

But Louis gets it. Harry can tell by the way she stiffens behind her. 

“When Niall fell,” she pauses, calming herself, “she was…stepped on. We weren’t going to let that happen to you,” and her voice rings somber throughout the small bathroom. Harry doesn’t need to hear more on it.

They’re quiet for a moment more, Louis continuing to run a cloth over Harry’s body, before she whispers almost like a secret, “Harry can I ask something of you?”

Harry is drained and tired, but she’s also powerless to the girl behind her. She nods and turns her head to look intensely at Louis.

“I want you to promise me you won’t forget this day.”

Harry’s eyes bulge and her brow constricts. How could she ever? But Louis goes on.

“I’m serious. I want you to remember this day. I want you to remember that officer’s face. And his words. I want you to remember the way your knee stings right now and that sinking feeling you have here,” she says tracing a line between Harry’s breasts. 

“I want—I want you to remember the sound of that stun gun. And I want you to remember the bravery of those protesters today. Don’t blank it out of your mind, _remember it_.”

Harry turns her head to peer at her, and Louis reacts by resting her nose at Harry’s cheek. “It is my hope,” she says voice made of steel, “that it will _spur_ you. Because there will be times when you will have to remember why we have a reason to fight in the first place.”

Harry pulls her bottom lip between her teeth but nods loyally. She can feel Louis’s flames licking at her, threatening to devour them both. “I’ll remember,” she promises, her voice a small whisper in the wind.

Louis’s hand comes up to stroke at Harry’s face, and she gently rests their foreheads together. “Still with us?”

When Harry looks up she’s surprised to see a war in Louis’s eyes, not having noticed where most of Louis’s worry stemmed. 

“Not going anywhere,” she says, and she means it with all her soul.

>>

When’s she’s finally deemed clean by Louis and relaxed enough to loosen the rigidness of her spine, Harry is toweled off and escorted into the adjourning room where the other girls await. 

“My cousin says we can stay for another day,” Niall announces as soon as they’ve crossed the threshold. “She’s not going to be in much tomorrow anyway.”

Harry scrunches her brow, “That’s not really necessary, is it?”

Li’s answering shrug is seemingly too nonchalant. “We figured you deserved a day to relax,” and she pats the mattress calling Harry and Louis over to pile in with the rest of them. 

Harry lets Louis guide her up, but she’s still not agreeing. “I’m fine,” she insists as her back is pulled into Louis’s chest, reminiscent of their position just moments ago.

Li deflects her protests, “You have battle scars now.”

“It’s just a scrapped knee.”

“It’s more than your knee. You experienced things today; those are scars too,” Li maintains. “We’re not trying to praise the fact that you got knocked around today,” Li adds. “But—scars are important. They remind you that the past is real.”

Niall moves to perch in front of Harry, and she looks more serious than Harry’s ever seen her, albeit still friendly. “Sometimes days like today take a while to hit you, especially when it was your first time. We just wanna be sure that if anything does happen we’re all here with you. And no, we are not putting my cousin out so don’t start,” she says halting Harry’s rebuttal.

Li hands her a bowl of popcorn before going to turn on a movie, and well. That’s that really. 

They’re having a couple ambling conversations while the movie gets put in when Zayn leans over to whisper in her ear.

“Still with us?” she asks carefully, and Harry feels the wave of déjà vu hit her. She looks up into Zayn’s eyes brimming with concern, feels the caress of Louis’s hands her hair, watches Li and Niall fret around the room before squeezing into the bed, all of them covering her like human security blankets, and she realizes just how much they love her then.

It occurs to her how many things are packed into that “Still with us” 

“Are you alright” “Are we helping” “Is this enough” “We’re here” “We love you” “Please stay”

Harry’s not sure when she became more than just Louis’s latest fling to them, but somehow she has transcended that; she means something to them. She’s one of them.

“I’m still here,” she croaks, filled with the emotions of the day.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to be. You always helped so much even when you didn’t come out. We don’t want to push you,” Zayn says in a rush.

Harry shushes her easily because she gets it; it’s her decision. And she has decided. “This is where I want to be,” she ensures, hoping her voice hold conviction. 

And she means it. Every battle has causalities and a revolution is overflowing with them, but Harry has never been more certain that this is what she wants to do with her life. 

Zayn nods finally, and Louis kisses both their temples before pulling Harry in closer for a cuddle as they all settle down to watch an old DVD. Harry feels their warmth and thinks yes, this is where I want to be.

>>

“Li, you’re Sporty Spice,” Louis says and is met with a resounding Duh. 

They’re sitting on Niall’s cousin’s balcony a day after the protest and the sun feels like heaven shining down on them. Harry is occupying the wicker bench, forever leaning into Louis with her feet propped up on Li as she flexes her muscles to make them laugh. The night hadn’t gone horribly, and at the very least the girls had stopped watching Harry as if she was about to crack any second. Baby steps. Apparently they were all on the local news which was a laugh; Harry’s never been on the news before.

“Louis,” Li starts, “if you cut your hair we’ll let you be Posh Spice.”

“Never!” Louis gasps, clutching her wavy locks in her hands. 

“Zayn’s got the cheekbones,” Harry pipes up and is met with Zayn’s smug smile.

“Yeah, Zayn’s Posh Spice,” Niall enters, “And I’m a lot more afraid of Louis than anyone else, so she’s Scary Spice.”

“Harry’s Baby Spice!” Louis screeches, pressing her face into Harry’s cheek.

“Well that makes you Ginger Spice,” Zayn directs at Niall.

“Isn’t she a redhead?”

“Well to be fair none of us have red hair, but I think she’s blonde these days anyway.”

“Also red heads are badass,” Louis adds, “And you had a red streak in the back that one time.”

“Good enough for me,” Niall accepts.

“I can’t wait to have sex with David Beckham,” Zayn sighs.

“As long as we get to watch,” Louis concedes, and they all cackle until they’re red in the face.

Harry really loves her best friends.

>>

It’s 4 pm and almost a week later, but it hits Harry like a ton of bricks. 

She’s fixing a snack, holed up with Louis in their apartment, and she just—stops. Maybe Louis has a sense for these things, maybe she’d just been watching really intently, but whatever it is Harry is so so glad because Louis is there in a second, smothering her in warmth and pulling her to the surface.

>>

It’s later that night and Harry is curled into her bed with Louis and a tub of ice cream. 

“Do you ever think about aliens?” she blurts out.

Louis looks at her quizzically, but answers all the same. “Not so much,” she laments, amused. “Do you?”

“Not a lot,” Harry murmurs, “but like. Do you ever really stop to think about all those movies and things people write them in? Like, they’re always these big, ugly bad guys, yeah, but, I mean, we can’t know that.”

“Okay..” Louis trails trying to keep up.

“It’s just,” Harry continues getting more worked up, “We know absolutely nothing about them! All these writers and producers, they’ve probably never had a single conversation with an alien, but they’re always represented as bad and dangerous and out to destroy us.

“But it’s not just the aliens, you know?” She thinks about all the debates she’s been to, everything Zayn’s been explaining to her about the VRA, all the faces she saw at the rally earlier that week. “It happens to people we see every day. Entire groups just get labeled as a threat or some horrible entity just because people are too ignorant and too afraid to stand corrected!”

She’s practically yelling now, she realizes, and she brings her arm down from where she’d been flailing her spoon around. “What if the aliens are actually really nice?” she murmurs low, “What if they just want to be our friends?”

She shrugs when Louis doesn’t say anything, “It’s stupid. Nevermind,” she says bringing more ice cream to her mouth.

“No,” Louis says stopping her hand, and Harry peeks up at her hesitantly. “You’re right,” she agrees rubbing Harry’s wrist and the cogs are rolling endlessly in her brain. 

“People fear what they don’t know. And they shy away from change, even if it could better them.” She sighs, but Harry is looking at her as if Christmas has come early, having never thought she would meet someone who would understand that.

“We’d be a lot better off if we stopped alienating the aliens,” Louis persists.

“We would,” Harry nods, and for the first time all night she’s smiling.

>>

Harry never really knew much about her body before she met Louis. And that’s, well—frightening considering she was eighteen and living on her own, but it’s true. 

She recalls the first time she and Louis had ever gotten close to doing anything, Harry lying dazed but excited on her dorm room mattress and Louis perched devilishly above her. 

“How far have you gone,” it had occured to Louis to ask, pausing her meticulous work at Harry’s neck. Harry frowned. “Sorry, sorry,” Louis apologized, “but I didn’t mean to start all this,” she gestured, “when I came over. And I just realized we’ve never actually talked about it.”

Harry had been one hundred percent sure Louis wouldn’t have asked at all if Harry wasn’t so “green” as Louis’s friends had called her. Nonetheless, she shakes her head, hopes for Louis to catch on as she grips her hips tighter. 

“Oh,” Louis had breathed. “Oh you haven’t--. Okay, that’s okay,” she’d babbled, moving back down to Harry’s chest. “It’s just good to know.” 

Harry was absolutely not in the right mind space for this conversation, but what did it even matter when Louis’s lips felt like warm velvet against her skin, singeing her into bliss. 

“It’s okay,” Louis continued to mutter between kisses, “As long as you’ve done it yourself, it won’t matter. 

Harry had blushed all the way down to her chest, because what? No. She never, she _couldn’t_ —that was for boys. But Louis had noticed the way she’d tensed up.

“Harry,” she’d said softly pulling back again. “Please tell me you’ve at least given it a go yourself.”

Harry very much wished for the bed to open up a pit and swallow her whole.

“Erm, well…no?” Why were they having this conversation _now_ of all times?

Louis tried and royally failed to hide her frustration then. She’d bitten her lip and slid off Harry’s lap patting her hip on the way off. “Not today then,” she’d relented making to pull Harry’s skirt back in place.

“What? No, Lou it’s okay really,” Harry’d insisted, trying to keep Louis in place, but Louis was nothing but persistent. 

“Really Lou, I want you,” Harry had pleaded. Clearly that wasn’t working. “I trust you,” she’d whispered instead. 

Louis had nothing but incredulity to offer with her answering look. She pulled herself together quickly though, scrubbing her face and sliding up to Harry’s side.

“Harry,” she’d started softly, “I believe you and, trust me, I appreciate it. And it’s okay that you haven’t done much; I’d be more than happy to change that for you, but…not yet.”

Harry was effectively pouting now, and Louis to her credit looked just as frustrated, though more determined to stand her ground.

“Think about it this way,” she’s said soothing Harry’s side, ‘You wouldn’t invite someone to a barbeque if you’ve never roamed around the house a few times yourself, right?”

“Maybe,” Harry had frowned. “But I’m sure you know how to find the kitchen.”

“But I don’t know how you want me to treat the kitchen.”

“I could tell you along the way!”

“I’ll end up burning the entire house down! Goodbye, kitchen. No more barbeques. Hope you don’t have a dog because Sparky is dead now!”

Harry blinked at her. “What?”

Louis laughed then, bright and exasperated. “Please, Harry,” she’d asked. “Maybe you will be fine but. I’d feel more comfortable if we waited.”

There was really not anything Harry could say after that.

The next week she found a box on her bed with a pink bow on top. She lifted it to find a note stuck to the top in Louis’s scrawl.

_What’s the next holiday coming up, Columbus Day? Why do we even celebrate that? Whatever. Happy Columbus Day, I guess! I put some websites you might like on the back of this note. Don’t scoff! Some of them are really helpful. I also packed extra batteries in the box ;). Please don’t pass out. Kiss, Louis_

Harry stared dazedly at the box. Then she opened it and stared some more. Oh boy, she thought. 

(She does pass out. She never tells Louis.)

The thing is, now, lying under Louis in their apartment, she is so incredibly happy for how Louis handled the situation. Her mouth is parted into a lazy smile, and it feels like Louis is seeping into her bones, burning her from the inside out. 

They’re first time together had been…empowering. It still is. As she writhes into their bed, it feels like she’s flying knowing how much power she has, knowing she’s with someone who would want her to feel this powerful. 

“Fuck,” she whines when she’s pushed over the edge, and Louis’s mouth is a godsend as it strokes her through the aftershocks. Harry licks into Louis’s mouth, bites her tongue just to hear Louis’s answering growl, before she collapses in on herself, pants filling the air. 

“I love you,” Harry whispers when she’s caught her breath. Louis laughs into her ear, and the gust of air sends a chill down her spine and a groan from her lips.

“Your turn,” Harry adds rolling onto Louis, and she’s never been happier to return the favor.

Every day is a day for a revolution. But sometimes, Harry thinks, the revolution cannot advance until you have an evolution of self.

>>

Louis stares at Harry. If Harry’s honest this is very reminiscent of the last time she asked—she’s even leaning on Louis’s knees again-- but she’s trying not to focus on that. Louis’s face holds a wariness that Harry rarely sees. She doesn’t even blink.

“Please,” Harry hedges.

Louis sighs. Maybe she’d been holding her breath. “You don’t think it’s too soon?”

In truth, it hasn’t been that long since Harry’s first protest, but she refuses to let that stop her. “I think this would be the perfect one to jump back in with.”

Louis still looks unconvinced. 

“It does sound really cool,” Zayn puts in lazily, looking up from her latest drawing as if she hadn’t been waiting just as eagerly as Harry. “I wanna go.”

“If any of you go, I’m going too. I’m the one who told you about it!” Harry complains.

“Okay,” Louis relents, shushing her, “Okay.”

Harry looks up at her biting a smile. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, “I wanna go too.”

>>

The protest is…Harry doesn’t really know how to describe it.

Beautiful. Amazing. Life changing.

They arrive before the sun is in the sky to a Planned Parenthood just a few cities away. It’s a larger location, looks more like a hospital than a clinic, albeit smaller. When they approach they see the metal railings that have been forced up by the Others as the girls refer to them. The railings create what looks almost like a runway up the parking lot where troubled women travel from their cars to the entrance of the building. Harry’s buzzing from head to toe as they make their way to the barriers, a few others already there and waiting. 

By the time the Others show up with their demeaning signs and hateful attitudes, there’s already a barrier of peacemakers on either side of the entrance, at least four rows each blocking them, and they have no choice but to stand behind. 

It really is incredible. When the women start to make their way in for the day, Harry notices their wary expressions, knows they were able to hear the angry screaming and protests the second they got out of their cars. But as they make their way up the walk, they all stall, notice that the front line is bursting with not hatred, but people with smiles. 

They offer quiet encouragement as the women make their way into the building, and from where the women walk, they can barely see a single face of an angry protester. They can still hear them of course, and the things these people are shouting are just—horrendous. It makes Harry’s blood curl. But every time she sees a new face approaching she pastes on her best smile, shoots out a thumbs up, points to the sign Niall made proclaiming that they have the right to their own bodies and decisions thereof. 

And every single woman who passes stops in enchanted puzzlement before smiling right back. 

Louis beams the whole time, and it’s a real smile, the kind that brings out the crinkles by her eyes. She can hear Li in a constant litany of “this is so cool” over and over on repeat. 

It’s the most amazing thing Harry’s done with her life so far to watch these women make their way down the path with pride, being build up instead of being torn down, as they make what are undoubtedly difficult decisions in their lives. 

One woman comes out of the building, waltzes right up to Louis and flings her arms around her neck whispering “Thank you, thank you so much” and it’s so _genuine_ it drives Louis to tears.

They stand there all day, and the Others keep yelling, but they keep smiling, and the women smile back.

Harry has her arm slung tightly around Louis’s waist by the end, with her face red and tear stained as she bursts with happiness. 

This, she thinks, today, _this_ is the revolution. There are days that are tiring and days that leave scars that she carries like a ton of bricks. But there are also days like today when she remembers what it is she fights for. 

Revolutions are for the people.

There are always casualties, and there are times when the air is knocked out of them in one clean swipe. Revolutions show mercy to no one. The thing Harry hangs on to, however, is that when the ante is up, it is always the oppressed who rise again, who come back to fight because it is all they’ve ever known.

The lessons Harry has learned in the past year all flash through her mind in a montage: the lifelong friends she’s gained, accepting who she is, becoming the girl who stands here.

She thinks of all people she’s come in contact with. The ones who’d told her that surely she was pretty enough to get a proper boyfriend as they refused see the love in Louis’s eyes. The ones who rolled their eyes begging her to stop being such an angry feminist. The ones who’d taught her to stick up a grand ole middle finger to anyone who disagreed with the progress she was helping to happen.

She thinks of old nights when her insecurities would get the better of her. When she couldn’t help but ask Louis why she would be with her, why she wouldn’t simply find someone more knowledgeable, more experienced, someone tougher.

Louis’s tender touch is seared into her skin, her words carved into her brain.

“Harry, I wish you could see yourself the way I do. You’ve seen so much hatred, so much prejudice, but you’ve always remained gentle. You never let it turn you hard, and I do not wish that on you. I lost that, what you have. I lost it a long time ago; it was taken from me. And people try to take it from you every day, yet here you are. You dazzle me, Harry. Fuck, you dazzle everyone. The world doesn’t need any more hardheads running around. It needs more people like you who remember what it’s like to not have their hearts closed off. Please don’t ever feel you need to change that. I see you, Harry; you give little pieces of yourself to everyone you meet, and you make them better for it. It’s the most awe inspiring thing I’ve ever seen. I mean that. You’re going to be the most amazing thing this world’s ever seen. To me, you already are.”

She remembers a time when she couldn’t believe that. Couldn’t believe that Louis, her girls, anyone really, could love her so much. 

She remembers not being able to understand how kindness could keep the revolution alive. But here, looking at all of these smiling faces that cancel out the hatred just beyond their ranks, she finally appreciates what Louis had said to her. 

She stands beside Harry now, her fire concentrated like a guiding light. Harry thinks she’d follow her anywhere. 

As the evening starts to set in, the building closes, and they all cheer, Harry finding her four best girls as they wrap into each others arms laughing and yelling in victory. 

Every day is a day for a revolutions, Harry agrees, and she belongs right in the middle of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to come chat at my [tumblr](http://www.wildhalos.tumblr.com) :)


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